Wayward Requiem
by Vindicated Irony
Summary: Pain comes in many forms, and after dying once I thought nothing could be as painful as that. I was wrong. OC. Rated M for abuse/torture and dark themes.
1. Prologue

**This story I actually have somewhat of a plan for (up to a point, anyways).  
>ThoughwhyamIdoingthistomyself. Idontneedtopublishanotherstory.<strong>

**Whatever.**

**I only own my OCs.**

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**Prologue.**

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My mother had always told me that in most circumstances you could get a second chance. A do-over to help you correct your past mistakes, but I don't know if she fully understood how far a second chance could reach. And when I say this, I mean death. As in dying and living again.

That belief that some religions had where one was reincarnated after dying – the way they lived their life determining where they ended up in their next.

Human. Animal. Plant.

The possibilities were, apparently, limitless in that aspect.

Though if I'd been reborn as an ant or a cat or some old woman's neglected rosebush I wouldn't have been too surprised. I wasn't the nicest kid, the nicest teen, or the nicest young adult. I'd been rebellious to the extreme for most of my life – and just plain mean. If someone asked why that was, I'd probably pin it on abandonment issues.

The mother I mentioned?

Foster mother.

But, she was the closest thing to the real thing I had.

So, when she died I got drunk. And when I got drunk I got stupid. Such stupidity led me to get in a car and drive off – to this very moment I have no idea where stupid-drunk-me was going, but I know where I ended up. And that was through the guardrails of an old bridge, into a river, and then _there_.

_There_ being some blank, black place that felt full of water – warm water, which wasn't all too pleasant. And then from _there_ I ended up _here_. Here being Italy – assuming the words I'd been hearing for the last five years were Italian, and I'm pretty positive they were and are.

Thus beginning the struggle of _'Who am I?'_ Though this was more of an existential question that the 'discovering yourself' question that overemotional, hormone ridden teens asked. Because the people here called me Isabella, Isabella Estraneo – which seemed _so_, achingly familiar – and because I distinctly remembered that my name from before my rebirth was (_is_) Emily Scott. And, quite frankly, I was having a hard time figuring things out.

I knew I'd been reborn, that much was obvious (unless this was some sort of wacked up dream and I was in a coma), but I was still Emily Scott. But part of me was also screaming that I am Isabella Estraneo.

The forever-rebel-Scott.

Mama's little Bella.

It was an issue that _wanted_ to be thought about, but for the sake of my sanity and health I pushed back that urged and tried to focus on living in the here and now. Which was as the bouncing baby girl and only child of Emilio and Agata Estraneo. A child that was very much so loved.

A family that I'd never had, but always wanted.

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**I think we know how this will turn out.**

**Short Prologue is short.**


	2. Estraneo Arc: I

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**I don't know how pleased I am with this one, honestly.**

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My mother, I'd found, was quite the intelligent woman – being that she was taking care of my schooling all on her own. She'd managed to teach me three languages by the time I was nine (technically two, because I had to fake learning English), which boggled me since I'd never had the mental capacity (or the will, really) to learn another in my previous life. That being said, I was now nine and fluent in Italian, English, and Japanese. She wanted me to learn more, though, but I had been pushing it off since learning a new language could be intensive.

Though part of me was worried because I was also being taught basic self-defense – which, I suppose wasn't too unusual. But there were people walking around carrying guns; everyone had some sort of gun on them, it seemed.

I'd just recently asked about what exactly our family did, due in part to the aforementioned guns and mother was now smiling indulgently down at me –

"We're a mafia family, dear."

I froze, my fingers stiff as I took that information in.

"Your father thought you should know sooner, but, well," mother laughed, light and sweet, "I wanted to give you a little bit of a normal childhood."

My tongue felt as if it was glued to the roof of my mouth as I stared up at her, my bright blue eyes meeting her own.

"That's why you'll be getting extensive lessons this summer so you can properly catch up to the other kids." As she said this a stiff, sour looking man walked in, giving mother a nod and me a blank look. "You'll need the knowledge and skills to keep you on par, if not better than the others."

_Mafia._

_Estraneo family._

_…Why did this seem so painfully familiar?_

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The summer had been jam-packed with bone-jamming, limb-numbing practices and exercises. I'd learned more extensive hand-to-hand as well as how to handle all sorts of guns – grenades, too. That stiff, sour man – Ike, he was called – had also rotated me through various weapons to gauge what I was best at handling, and had determined that using a Bo staff or iron knuckles were my best bet.

Apparently I was a decent enough close combat fighter, even if I was physically weaker due to being a female.

Which baffled me, since I had almost no real athletic ability in my past life.

It also terrified me because _I didn't want this_. Sure, I'd been an absolute horror in my last life – but the mafia? As a close-range fighter?

Karma was one evil bitch, and not just because of that.

It was the extensive mafia history lessons. History lessons that had me awake until four in the morning until I'd passed out. Lessons that had been jammed into the last three days before I'd be joining fellow Estraneo kids in our family's own make-shift school. History that made me want to cry and scream and _deny_. Because it was about the _Vongola_.

So I did, I denied that any of this was a possibility.

Denied the fact that despite it seeming impossible, that it _wasn't_.

Then, those wall came crumbling down.

Because that first day of classed I'd run into someone – though, not literally. I'd been sitting in the back corner, quiet and watching when he'd come in. The thing that caught my attention? His hair, and the strange crown he had that made it resemble a pineapple. At first, I'd denied that too, because this kid was so happy. But then someone had called out to him.

"Mukuro!"

_Mukuro…?_

_Mukuro Rokudo?_

_Estraneo experiment and criminal?_

_Ike and his lessons on the the Chiavarone famiglia… the Vongola._

_Oh **god**._

_I **really** would have preferred being reincarnated as an ant, cat, or even an old woman's neglected rose bush to **this**._

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I hope to make future chapters longer (though some will probably be short like this). I just didn't see any point in writing out her training and history lessons; they'll probably crop up in flashbacks though.

But Mukuro is here!


	3. Estraneo Arc: II

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**I made some changes to the last chapter; nothing significant though.**

**Also, Fall Out Boy's song "Immortals" is pretty much my muse for this story.**

**Guest: Thank you for the reviews! :) And the Estraneo did use their kids; Muku-chi, Ken, and Kaki-pi were all kids from the family. As for Isabella's part in all of this… well that's coming up pretty soon, I'd say.**

**Also, I skipped ahead by about a year for this chapter. So Isabella and her classmates range from 9 to 11, with Isa being 10.**

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**Estraneo Arc: II**

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It was a strange experience, spending so much time around mafia kids. Some of them acted like kids, truly acted like kids – others _acted_ like kids, but under the surface they were somehow older, or at least more malignant. They watched, searched for weaknesses and mistakes, and as the daughter of the famiglia's boss I was one of the most watched kids in class.

It was unsettling, to say the least. No kids should be eying other kids (or anyone, really) with any sort of underhanded intentions of the mafia variety. But I couldn't just huddle in a corner and let them know they were getting to me in one way or the other – that would just cement me as a target. Luckily enough these kids weren't high in number; there were only about four (of the malignant kind) in our cohort of twenty-one. Though these kids weren't my main concern, not by far.

This was the Estraneo Famiglia. The family that was desperate and demented enough to experiment on _kids_. A place where I was very likely to end up _dead_, either through experiments or _Mukuro_.

"Isabella? You've got that scary look on your face again," came Ada's sweet voice, "Though it's kind of interesting how it can both scare and intrigue."

Ada Richter was the only other child I regularly associated with that I could, and would call a friend. She was intelligent and sweet, though that sweetness could turn sharp when needed – just like a dear friend of mine – of Emily's.

"The more people avoid me, the better." My soft, childish voice made me internally wince, as it did every time I spoke (It was just so _alien_).

"Bonds are important though, aren't they?" Ada picked at her food, "That's what mother always said, at least."

I speared a strawberry with my fork before responding, "Maybe in the future."

Because bonds now would only hurt. Just like I knew this one would, but I hadn't been able to resist this girl who was so nostalgically familiar. Losing her would impact me greatly, I knew, but I didn't _like_ thinking that way. It just made me brood, which I did far too much already for a ten-year-old child.

"You always say that," her corn-silk hair whipped around as she shook her head, "But shouldn't you be living in the _now_, Isabella?"

_I am._

_And the now is scary, but the future is scarier._

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All of the adults within the family were either angry or impassive, and all of them were tense. Apparently there we were getting some not-so-nice reactions from the other mafia families for the "Possession Bullet"; something that my own _father_ had apparently been a mastermind behind.

It was disgusting, that bullet. I remembered enough about it to know that without having to sneak around or just plain ask – and anything that involved forcibly controlling someone like that bullet allowed was absolutely _sick_. To be proud of making something like that was like being proud of emotionally breaking people. Not that they weren't above doing that, either.

Because _it_ was starting.

Ada's own brother had gone missing just days ago, and she was genuinely and understandably upset about it. Especially considering her father's reaction, which had apparently involved a harsh slap and a stern command to 'not mention him again' because he was 'working for the benefit of the famiglia.'

"I just don't understand," her voice a rough whisper, her fingers clutching at the ring around her neck, "He would have at least said goodbye, and he wouldn't have left mother's ring on the floor like it was."

There wasn't much I could do besides hug her, and there wasn't anything I could say because it wouldn't be okay. While she probably needed that lie, I just couldn't say it. I didn't have it in me to blatantly lie to her face, not about something like this.

"Can't…can't you find something out?"

I froze and it felt like ice was starting to creep through my veins.

"Your dad is our Boss. So, so he'd know, right? Or even your mom?"

"…I can't. I'm not that close to my dad, and," I bit my lip and avoided her slowly angering face, "and my mom… I just can't."

As much as I wanted to help her, it really wasn't possible. The reactions I would get from my parents probably wouldn't be ideal – especially when it came to my father, who was very impersonal and tetchy. For all I knew, questioning him could send me into that mess, which I was already terrified of. Mother wouldn't be able to save me, and I wasn't sure if she would even _try_ to. While she was sweet and kind, she was mafia, and she was just as tense and upset about the recent "Possession Bullet" debacle.

"You _can't_? Or you _won't_?" Ada snapped, eyes angry, sad, and conflicted all at the same time, "Do you even _care_? What if it was _me_? Would you _still_ not ask?"

The stress already weighing down on me prodded at me, urging me to snap back, "It's not that _simple_! _You don't know my parents_!"

She let out a strangled squawk before stamping away, tears in her eyes.

In class she sat all the way on the other side of the room.

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The next day Ada sat silently next to me, still angry, but not so much at me anymore.

Conversely, seven kids were absent from class. Those kids didn't show all week, with another three kids missing by Friday.

One of those original seven was Mukuro Rokudo.

_Is Ada next?_

_Am __**I**__ next?_

_Is death already at my door again?_

_**I don't want to die again.**_

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**Is it wrong that I'm slightly, somewhat looking forward to writing the next few chapters?**

**Anyone care to hazard a guess at what's going to happen to Isabella/Emily?**

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	4. Estraneo Arc: III

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**Thanks for the follows and favorites!**

**Also, the quickness of this update stems from the fact that once I finish a chapter I can't make myself wait to post it.**

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**Estraneo Arc: III**

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Temperatures had seemed to plummet as kids kept seemingly dropping off the face of the earth, though I mean this in the _emotional_ sense. The adults were generally angry or broody and there were some who smiled and acted cheerful, but their facades were tense with an obvious undercurrent of something_ else_. The kids though, the kids were confused and scared – they were all almost like startled fawns stumbling around, not sure if they should _run_.

I just felt cold in general – numbness was undoubtedly covering up fear and anger and sadness. Eventually it would come bursting forth, because something would cause the metaphorical dam to break, I was sure.

"Isabella," Ada's hand clutched at the fabric at my wrist, "Almost everyone is _gone_."

The pure fear and worry in her voice made me want to cry – because she was my friend and a child and shouldn't, under any circumstances have to deal with any of this.

But she was right. Our class of twenty-one had dwindled down to seven, including us. The woman originally teaching us didn't really bother anymore, either. Class time was usually spent with us huddled into groups of some sort, reading or doing assignments that the teacher halfheartedly assigned us.

"I know, Ada. I know, but," her grip on my sleeve tightened and her other hand joined it, only around my wrist instead, "but I'm here, and so are you."

Her voice was something between a whisper and silence, "Together. Friends forever, right?"

"Right."

It was heartbreaking, having my sweet friend starting to come apart at the seams like this. Intelligence was at fault for that, greatly so. Because she _understood_ the danger where the kids with average and below intelligence were scared, yes, but were more so confused than anything. While a great advantage, intelligence could also be a hindrance – especially for a child who was still a child; innocent and naïve.

"Hey, Ada." I barely felt my lips move; a half-hearted smile. "Teach me some German?"

Ada shifted and her blue eyes sparkled a little more as the fear and worry was pushed back for the moment. German was her father's first language, and she loved it.

A distraction was both the least thing and most I could do.

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Nothing, I decided, was worse than seeing a detached look in the eyes of someone who was supposed to love you. A mother wasn't supposed to look away and say _nothing_ when her daughter struggled and looked at her with fear filled eyes. A father wasn't supposed to _stare you down_ and tell you to _stop this nonsense_ because what was happening was _for the betterment of the famiglia_.

The hands of my familial-captors were rough and hardly gentle as the restrained my resisting limbs and I felt something give away in my head as the metaphorical dam broke. As the numbness faded and the waves of fear, anger, and sadness coursed through me like icy-hot water and as the tears fell and the dragged me off I _screamed_.

_What did I do to deserve __**this**__?_

_I'm going to __**die**__._

_Let me live a little longer._

_Please._

_Mother._

_Father._

_**Why?**_

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Being stripped down and shoved into an itchy, off-white cotton dress was dehumanizing, to say the least. The fact that it was a _woman_ that did it made it less so, the fact that a _man_ was still _present in the room _made it worse. And the fact that I'd just _stood there_, like a doll, because I was just so overwhelmed was what made it take a step closer to _hell_.

"We really must be close to something great," the woman murmured to the man as the ushered me through the dank hallway, "If Boss is sending us his own child."

I made a choking sound, unable to completely hold back the sobs that were pricking at my throat and eyes.

"Shut up, woman," the man snapped, his grip on me more forceful, "It's none of our business, or _hers_."

The rest of the walk was silent until we reached a locked door and the jingle of keys and shifting tumblers permeated the air –

"Consider yourself lucky, little mistress." The ban spoke with false bravado coated in sarcastic tones, "You get an actual friend and beds. Compliments of the Boss."

There was a push and I stumbled forward, my knees and hands hitting the ground as the door clicked shut and locked behind me. But the worst sound was the terrified sob and the name that followed –

"_Isabella_?"

As I met her eyes everything just seemed to break free – the tears, the sobs, the trembling – because _Ada_ was here. We were stuck together, to suffer together and watch as the other came back in worse condition every time. Her arms were around me and her hands were clutching fervently at the fabric of my dress as my own did the same with hers – both of us crying, both of us scared, both of us _lost_.

_Why?Why?__**Why?**_

_I'm scared._

_It's cold._

_My heart, it __**hurts…**_

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**And so it begins.**

**[l]**

**Let it be known I have a reading response, three page essay, and documentary summary due by the end of this week.**

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	5. Estraneo Arc: IV

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**What girl is writing fanfics instead of essays?**

**This one.**

***sobs***

**Also; decided to go ahead and add Muku-chi as a character on the fanfic info. It's pretty obvious that he'll be involved somehow, at least.**

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**Estraneo Arc: IV**

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Sitting in this small, dank room was far worse than sitting in that classroom or at home had been – then it hadn't been to set in stone, our imminent pain hadn't been right in our faces. Everything about the room just seemed to make things worse too – the cold, hard floors; our 'beds', which were more like large half-stuffed pillows with blankets so thin and itchy they could have been made of burlap. Our only light was inset into the ceiling and was so dim that it made the room seem murky and gave everything a grey glow.

Food was a second thought when it came to us as well, it seemed. We got what seemed like scraps and mush twice a day: once in the morning and once in the evening. At least that's how it had been these two days we'd been locked in here.

"What are they going to do to us, Isabella?" Ada was curled in on herself, her arms hugging her legs to her chest, "It feels like something really bad is coming."

Her hands clenched, the skin of her knuckles stretching and paling – but no tears came out of her sad eyes. They couldn't. She had cried herself dry this morning – I had done the same the night before and the aching headache that came with doing just that was still lingering like a bad omen.

"I…I don't know," it wasn't a complete lie; I didn't know what, specifically, we'd be subjected to, "But I'll be here the whole time; best friends forever, remember."

Ada uncurled herself and joined me where I was huddled on my mattress, leaning into my side as faint trembles shook her. It was her body's way of crying without tears, I supposed; I had done the same. Her fingers curled around my wrist, placing cold skin against cold skin.

"Right," her voice was fragile in volume but strong in tone, even if only faintly, "I'll be here for you too – no matter what."

It was moments like these that made things somewhat okay again.

Moments like these were also almost always too good to last, and this fact was punctuated by the click and shift of the doorknob. It was made even more real as Ada's nails unintentionally dug into my skin and as my own body trembled and felt as if I'd been dipped in ice.

"Sixty," her voice was clipped and clinical, "come with me now."

Neither of us moved, both of us confused by the number – though even if we had understood it was doubtful we would have moved anyway. The woman seemed to understand this and let out an annoyed sound, her slim brows tilting in annoyance. She moved forward and reached out –

"You, with the blonde hair. Sixty. Come with me now, be a good girl."

Ada dry sobbed and clutched my arm tighter as I, too, cried out and clutched to her. For a moment it was a messy blur of grey-lighted clothes and noised of annoyance and fear, but nothing else but my grip on Ada mattered. She was my only light in this darkness right now, as I was for her; a light that was suddenly and almost viciously ripped from me. Her nails left red marks on my arms as the woman yanked her off of me as a man I hadn't noticed in my fear held me in place, and it wasn't until Ada was out of the room, her screams fading the farther they got down the hall, that he tossed me back on my supposed bed.

"Relax, nine," the man's voice was dark, floating through the crack of the door as it closed, "Your turn is coming up soon enough."

_Oh, god._

_Oh, __**god**__._

_Ada, __**no**__._

_Please come back._

_I'm scared._

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Hours later the door creaked open and Ada was all but thrown in the room, barely making it far enough to face-plant into her bedding. She started to shake soon after; it started slowly and slowly escalated – the wheezing sounds indicating crying.

"Ada," I fell to my knees at her side and she launched herself into my abdomen, her arms squeezing me with all the pitiable strength they could muster, the little pinprick marks dotting them making my throat thicken, "I'm here. I'm here."

She shook harder and I imagined, if she had the tears left in her, that my shirt would be damp with the salty substance. Eventually I managed to get free long enough to pull our bedding together where she curled into me like a child would curl into their mother.

We stayed that way all night long.

_Ada, don't give up._

_Please, I __**need**__ you to be here._

_Stay strong._

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The following morning – assuming it really was morning, and I hadn't gotten evenings and mornings mixed up – was filled with a horrible tension. My gut felt like it was tied in multiple knots and my fingers and toes felt numb, though whether that numbness was from fear or the coldness of the room I didn't know.

It was probably some of both.

Ada was quiet, her eyes pained, though considerably less so than last night to my complete and utter relief. She was strong, for a kid. It was undoubtedly because she was more mentally mature, but even then she was still just a kid. There was only so much she could handle. That I could handle. Than anyone could handle.

Then, her body seized before my eyes as the door clicked and rattled open.

Please, just be food.

Gruel is better than that.

Please.

"Nine," the same dark voice from before sounded and I immediately felt as if I'd been dipped in ice water, "I told you your turn was coming."

Large, rough hands grabbed my upper arms, rumpling the sleeves of the my cotton dress as he wrenched me away from the room, leaving Ada wide-eyed and reaching out with a trembling hand as the door slammed shut.

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**Reasoning for the numbers:**

**Ada is sixty because the original sixtieth child is dead, so they gave her that number to fill the blank space.**

**Isabella/Emily is nine because she's the heir and was to be Estraneo the Ninth. You could say they saved the number nine for her.**

**Also, I'm assuming writing what Isabella/Emily goes through would raise the rating to M? Probably?**

**I'll probably do it to be safe.**

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	6. Estraneo Arc: V

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**So, I raised this to 'M' because of the torture/abuse. It was more a safety measure because I really don't know if this needs the higher rating? I've never written anything like this, so…**

**Also, I'm pretty sure the songs "Immortals" by FoB and "Mission Bells" by Matt Nathanson are going to be my muses from a good bit of this fic…**

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**Estraneo Arc: V**

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To describe the feelings one gets while being dragged into a room, being toted around like some _ragdoll_, and to subsequently be forced onto a cold metal table and strapped down was almost impossible. I couldn't even properly identify most of the feelings practically coursing through my veins like icy-hot blood.

If anything it's like feeling as if some great pressure was trying to flatten me and rip me apart at the same time. Contradictory natures were at work in that aspect, just like with these _horrid_ adults who were supposed to be _human_.

"Stop struggling," strong hands covered in latex gripped my chin and cheeks roughly, "It'll only make things worse – but that's _your_ choice, not mine."

At that moment something in my chest bubbled as hysterical laughter tickled my throat.

_My choice?_

_Are you all __**deluded**__?_

Before I could actually start laughing there was a click and sharp, sharp pain as needles attached to tubes full of some surely noxious chemicals sunk into my flesh – one on each arm, right by the crooks of my elbows. My vision became misty at the foreign feeling and building dread surrounding the teethed tubes stuck to arms.

"A strong, stable body," someone commented to a colleague, "Necessary for number nine and this _should_ give her just that."

And then it started – first with another sharp pinch and then a fizzing, scalding, borderline gel-like liquid forced itself through the needle-teeth in my arms and into my body. It burned a little and then all at once just like acid, my very blood _screaming_ and by toes and fingers unconsciously _curling_.

And then, I was screaming too.

_Make it stop._

_Someone, anyone._

_Get me out of this __**Hell**__._

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When my consciousness started coming back to me I was hyperaware or the fact that my veins were still burning. The stiff, coarse bandages tightly wound around the tube's teeth marks contributed to the burning with a throbbing ache that I could feel throbbing in the back of my eyes. These things made it obvious I wasn't dead.

_But would that be better?_

"You're finally awake." Ada's voice was teary and relieved, "I don't know how long it's been, but I was scared."

I felt her hands gently fluttering around my upper arm and shoulder, her oceanic eyes swimming with misty tears. It was kind of surprising to suddenly feel relieved to see some kind of emotion in them aside from desperation and pain, especially since I myself felt like a giant bruise.

"…I promised, remember?" I almost winced at the rough sound of my voice and the slight scratching it produced in my throat, "We both did –"

"Best friends forever." She finished, a weak, almost nonexistent smile tugging at her lips.

Eventually, with Ada's help, I managed to sit upright with the help of the cold wall. My arms, though, were pretty much useless. With the bandages and biting wounds my elbows couldn't bend and a lethargic wave numbed me as I realized I could barely even twitch my fingers. It made me really realize how achy and heavy I felt now that the initial burning had faded away.

"What…What do you think," Ada swallowed thickly as she carefully huddled into my side, "they've done to us?"

My mind swam as I tried to recall the _before_, "I dunno… one mentioned something about making my… body… stronger, before, I think."

She tensed automatically at the 'before' and practically turned into a statue as I finished –

"But _why_? A-and what have they been doing to _me_? …_**Why**_?"

I couldn't answer, so I just leaned into her and she returned the favor. We spent the day – or night, I was still lost on which – like that, and Ada only moved to bring our serving of gruel to where we were. And eventually we fell asleep there, supporting each other.

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The next time they came in for one of us we also stayed huddled together, weakly holding onto each other, knowing we'd be ripped apart, but doing it anyways. Used to this, the men quietly and emotionlessly pulled us away from each other, with one of them pulling Ada away and leaving me to stand in the middle of the room. Then, out of nowhere – or perhaps he just wanted to – the larger man lashed out to backhand me across the face.

It stung, badly, as my head twisted to the side and I stumbled two or so steps back – though this seemed to _intrigue_ him. His eyes had a look of interest and he nodded sharply before turning away –

"Seems like it's time."

The door clicked shut and the lock shifted into place as I choked – because that sounded _bad_. Ominous, almost.

_They're going to come for me again._

_It's going to be __**worse**__._

…_No… I-I can't think like that._

_But…_

My thoughts shattered around me as the door creaked open to reveal a large man – the same one as before. Without realizing it, I took several involuntary steps back as he reached for me, but that achieved nothing but a tighter grip on my arm as he hauled me down to the same room as before.

But – it wasn't the same. It was somehow scarier, because I saw _scalpels_ and a tank of _gas_.

The cold table and metal bands that held me down here the same though. It was a horrible, gut-wrenching familiarity that had tears falling from my eyes as one of the men held my head still as an electric humming started.

"Best not so much as twitch, nine," a man said clinically, "we need this, at least, to be _clean_."

Before I could even mutter a sound something touched my head and I realized what they were doing. And I figured this is what those female prisoners of war felt like when _they_ were forced to have _their_ hair cut off. Like being stripped, this was dehumanizing and was killing what pride I had left as my hair fell away and the cool air needled my bare cranium.

"Now then," one of them kept a grip on my head as he placed a mask over the lower half of my face, "be a good girl and go to sleep."

With that a sickly sweet smell made me start to feel hazy – sleeping gas, I realized with muted horror. My eyes started drooping as I felt a cool something flitting across my forehead. Almost like a… dashed line. As the room darkened and blurred my drugged body's only reaction was a single tear that crawled down the side of my face.

_They're going to cut me open._

_**They're going to cut off the top of my head.**_

_A… lobotomy._

…_Brain… surg…ery…_

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I didn't know where I was – I wasn't for sure if I was even anywhere, really. Because everything was white, or perhaps I should say that _it_ was white or that _here_ is white. My head was still covered in my curly dishwater-brown hair too – but hadn't it been…

"…cut off?"

The loudness of my voice was startling, and the fact that it didn't echo was somewhat odd to me as well. In a place this big and open the sound waves should have been reflecting back… unless there was nothing for them to reflect off of.

Was here supposed to be the afterlife? Had I died in that surgery when they…

Suddenly I wasn't alone. I felt it – him, I realized once I turned – before I saw him. He was blurry and I couldn't make out any facial features because of the blurriness and the distance, but I could tell he had dark, blue tinted hair. The figure took a few steps forward, giving him a little more detail, such as the blue and red blurs where his eyes were supposed to be.

_Blue and red eyes?_

_Mu…kuro..?_

His mouth blurred more, probably was he attempted to talk, but I couldn't hear anything. The whiteness started to darken and my vision worsened, prompting me to try and reach out to the figure – _Mukuro?_ – and for him to mirror the action, blurry fingers stretched out towards me being the last sight I registered before the darkness swallowed me.

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…**Well, there's that. It turned out okay, I guess? I don't really know.**

**I'd really love to hear some opinions/feedback.**

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	7. Estraneo Arc: VI

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**Thanks to those that reviewed for the support! Much love to you all!**

**Also; WARNING: suicide is mentioned in this capter.**

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**Estraneo Arc: VI**

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That my head was pounding was the first thing I registered at I started regaining consciousness; then I registered a warm body huddled into my side and the sound of someone sniffling. My body was also very heavy and my mind was muddled beyond belief – so much so I couldn't quite properly figure out how to open my eyes or move. As I finally managed to get my eyes to crack open I groaned, because even the dim grey light of this cell was enough to hurt my eyes.

"Isabella!" The warmness moved away and Ada leaned over me, her eyes rimmed red, "_Isabella_! I thought you weren't going to wake up! I was so _scared_!"

"I…I'm n–" I swallowed thickly and clenched my eyes shut in lieu of shaking my head, "I'm… I promised, right?"

_Was I really just about to say I __**wasn't**__ Isabella?_

_That I didn't __**know**__ an Isabella?_

_What… what did they…_

Ada choked on a sob, "Yeah, but – but it's been _days_, Isa. A-and they didn't bring you back for days. S-so you were gone for so _long_ and then you wouldn't _wake up_."

My head pulsed as if to remind me of why that was – and, oh, did it. The deep coldness started in my gut and creeped outward as everything clicked to place in my still muddled head. What with the stiff, itchy bandages wrapped tight around my head and the damned throbbing, how could I _not_ remember? Remember that razor they took to my hair, the sleeping gas, _the marks across my skull_.

And then the white place.

The blurry figure.

_Mukuro._

Ada laid back down to curl into my side, "I was so _scared_, Isa. _So scared_."

"I'm…sorry," my eyes ached along with my head and a muffled humming radiated through my head, "I…"

"You should… you should eat some and go back to sleep," Ada got up again and brought over a bowl of gruel, "You're still hurt. I-I need you…I need you to get better."

_I need you too, Ada._

_I really, really do._

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What I estimated was a week passed before I could properly get up without some serious pain, the throbbing was still there though, but was far less pressing than it had been. And the muffled humming hadn't stopped. It was there constantly, as if it was trying to tell me something.

"I'm so glad you're better, Isa." Ada hugged her knees to her chest, "But I'm even more scared now…"

It was left unsaid, but I knew what she meant. They'd left us alone aside from meals and the times they rebandaged my head – I assumed they didn't want me to _die_ after all of the _work_ they did. They had left me alone for me to heal, and both of us had guessed they left Ada alone so she could take care of me.

Anything to keep a _precious experiment_ alive.

But things like that, they were just too good to be true.

The door creaked open, "Sixty, you need to come with us. Nine can handle herself now."

Both of us were too numb, _too used to it_ to put any sort of real fight into them taking her away. All we could do was share a horrified, heartbreaking look as the other was carried away. And as I was left on my own in the dank, grey-lit room all I could do was lay back down.

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Ada was _significantly_ worse than she'd ever been upon returning – her eyes honest-to-god _terrified_ me. They were almost completely blank, with very little light in them and an abundance of pain. There was no hope, not a single drop of it, and I hear every pained whimper she made and noticed every time she cradled her stomach with a bandaged arm.

"Ada," I nearly croaked, "Ada please, look at me."

She wouldn't.

She just curled into herself and whimpered.

When I finally fell asleep it was with dread flooding my system and salty tear-trails left on my face. I woke up later to a wet feeling and when I sat up and brushed a hand across my cheek it came back red. Red and _sticky_ and _**cold**_. My breathing shallowed and I looked over at Ada without even thinking and I stopped – stopped moving; stopped _breathing_.

Her corn silk hair was dark with blood; blood that had ran from her mouth, down her face, and soaked into our bedding. Blood that also soaked her middle and the bedding there.

She had _pulled open_ her stitching.

She had _bit her own tongue_.

Ada had –

I stopped, my mouth opened, and I screamed. I screamed so loud and so hard that my voice cracked and my vision spotted and then –

Nothing.

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I was left numb and alone for weeks when they came to pull me out again. Left alone to live with the stained bedding and horrible memory. Ada was still with me in heart though, and in possession. Because she had somehow brought her mother's ring in here – I kept it stuffed inside my pillow, like she'd kept it in hers. She used to clutch it to her chest when she couldn't sleep, and I now did the same. Though I was quick to shove it into my pillow every time the door started creaking though.

I _couldn't_ and _wouldn't_ lose it.

"Out you go, nine," came the impassive voice, "Come along."

And it was with that that I found myself strapped to the cold, hard table again. There was no marker this time though – they'd left a permanent line there for that. A needle slid into the crook of my elbow as the gas mask descended over my face, sending my mind to a far off place. I felt the cold metal press into my forehead just as I drifted too far away to _feel_.

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The whiteness was just as stark as before, and just as _lonely_; the only upsides were that I didn't _hurt_ here, and that here I still had _hair_. I didn't know how far I had walked, or if I had even moved at all. But, like before, I was very aware when I second presence entered the area. And when I turned I found myself face-to-face with a boy my age, his form no longer blurry and his eyes a strange combination of blue and red –

…_Mukuro…_

_But… how do I…_

_That's right… Katekyo Hitman Reborn._

"Isabella Estraneo," his face was impassive, "You were here before."

My lips parted and my head tilted, "…who?"

"_You_." His eyes narrowed, "That's your _name_. Isabella Estraneo."

"I…no, no it's not…" One of my hands clenched tightly at the fabric of my dress over my chest, "That's – That's never been my name."

His eyes seemed to soften at my words, "Even his own child… Who are you then? Do you have a name?"

"Emily Scott… no, wait…" I frowned, "I used to be Emily Scott, but she died. I… I don't know who I am _now _though. But – but I was _never_ Isabella."

Mukuro went absolutely rigid at that and it took a minute for me to register why. It was broken, my memory, but it was there. He had apparently been reincarnated six time, right? Or something akin to that.

"I'm sorry," his eyes darted to me, but he kept silent, "I didn't mean to upset you."

He reached a hand up to hold over his eye, "This isn't your fault. It's _theirs_. _**All theirs**_."

His anger was palpable, so much so I could almost taste it in the air. And it reminded me of _my_ anger, of Ada and all the _blood_. For the first time that I could remember I seriously wished _death_ upon people, and I wished that _I_ could do it.

_Remember…_

… _I can't remember much._

_Why…?_

"You said you couldn't remember your name," Mukuro smiled, "Want me to give you one?"

I blinked and my mouth fell open slightly, but I shook my head, "I think… I think I need to figure that out on my own. Thank you though, Mukuro."

And then everything blurred and the white was turning black once again. Did this mean I was waking up? Back in that cell? Without Ada?

Without knowing who I really was?

_I'm not Isabella…_

…_And I'm not Emily._

_Or am I?_

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**As of right now she remembers most of her life as Emily – everything as Isabella is pretty much gone. I will say that she remembers Ada though, as she was very, very important to her.**

**Feedback and comments are appreciated!**

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	8. Estraneo Arc: VII

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**Ayyyyy, snow day!**

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My body didn't feel like my own anymore – I couldn't even move properly because it was so heavy. But even though my body was heavy, it wasn't numb. There was a near constant tickle of pain in my joints and my stomach – everywhere, really. It almost effervesced, and it was a pain I'd never felt before in my life… lives?

The muffled humming was worse, too. My head ached and itched and there was a near constant noise – it was more pronounced than before, and I swore I could almost make out words. It hurt far too much to try though; it hurt far much to even properly _think_.

As the lock on the door clicked open I barely even blinked, but I did flinch when they hauled me up to my feet. I was tired and hurting and I didn't want this anymore, but I couldn't physically fight back. Not like I could before. So I did the next best thing –

"Damn brat. Not even going to move anymore, are you?"

My mouth stayed glued shut, the muffled humming taking a louder, almost angry tone. The other man that wasn't toting my limp body along let out a dark, sarcastic laugh as my carrier complained.

"Come on, Number Nine, you've come so far. We don't plan on losing you any time soon. We won't make the same mistake that we did with that friend of yours."

Rage caused my blood to boil – because _how-fucking-dare he_. As much as I wanted to lash out, to beat that man within an inch of his damned life, my body simply wouldn't allow me that. My fingers and toes twitched and I knew my face had to have too, if the dark chuckled from the man indicated anything.

His laughter only ceased when we reached the same room I'd been sent to every damn time they took me out of that forsaken room, and the same chemical smells practically burnt my nose and caused my throat to tighten. My skin met the cold metal table and I felt as if it was burning, but it didn't last long, because I was out in a matter of moments.

The last thing I saw was the blurry image of a scalpel raised above my head.

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The good thing about the whiteness is that I wasn't numb anymore. I didn't hurt and I didn't feel like my body had turned against me – it was just so easy here. Not that I understood where here was, exactly. Maybe it was the part of the brain that a person could hide in, down so deep inside their self.

"That's close enough to the truth." That was undoubtedly Mukuro, though I doubted anyone else could get here, "This is your mindscape."

"My…mindscape?" The fabric of my dress fluttered around my knees, "Shouldn't it be… more colorful? Something… other than white? Is this really what reflects _me_?"

Mukuro made a contemplative noise, "Perhaps it's because _you_ don't know who _you_ are."

Hearing that quite honestly hurt – it didn't mean that wasn't true, but it still hurt. Because it was so true. Was I Emily Scott? Isabella Estraneo? Someone else? Did I even _have_ a name anymore? If there was one person I knew I wasn't, it was 'Number Nine.' I absolutely refused with all of my _soul_ to accept _that_.

"That is a very valid statement, Mukuro."

"So even though you don't remember yourself, you remember others." It wasn't a question; that much was obvious; as was the intrigue that seeped into his voice, "Though it seems awfully rude to call me by my name when I have nothing to call you, no?"

"Of course I remember," my voice was quiet and somewhat choked as I whirled around, my deep blue eyes meeting his one blue and one red, "How could I forget? Remembering is what keeps me _strong_. What about you? What keeps you strong, Mukuro?"

His mouth moved, but I heard no sound. Then I was falling, falling through the whiteness as Mukuro faded away in the distance.

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When Mukuro had faded away, I had thought I was making up. After all, that was how my previous awakenings had gone the other times. But instead I was just left floating in the whiteness, unable to find a foothold anywhere. It left me with a pit in my stomach because – because… had I died? Was this purgatory?

_Did my mind let go?_

_My body?_

_I didn't want to die._

_I – I still don't._

_Someone?_

_Anyone?_

_Please, help me…_

Almost as if my pleads had actually called forth someone – or something – a dark spot began forming in the whiteness not too far away from where I floated. The dark spot grew and seized until a small hand reached out in my direction, and I didn't even question it. I went with my instinct and reached out, taking hold of the hand and as it gripped tightly back onto mine the dark connected to it began to bubble and grow and _color_.

"Mukuro." My voice was so tired and relieved and as I felt my feet find solid ground I wanted to _cry_.

After spending so long floating, scared and alone, it was pure reflex when I slung my arms around the dual-eyed boy. My grip wasn't tight, in fact there was barely any grip there; I was just so happy to have someone here. It was the slight hesitance and stiffness of his own hands as they patted my back that brought me back to more coherent thoughts –

"Sorry. I'm sorry. I just – I thought I had died again."

My hands gripped at my elbows as I crossed my arms against my chest, his fingers barely brushing the sides of my arms as he stepped back – his face was, surprisingly, unbothered.

"You were lost for a long time," Mukuro eyes me with interest, "And I couldn't reach you."

I knew my lips had parted slightly in surprise – because he had been trying to _reach_ me – and it took me a moment to properly gather my thoughts –

"So it's… my mind was…lost?" How long had it been?

"Possibly." Mukuro's head tilted slightly, "It's possible that you temporarily died. You're obviously alive now, though."

That was an interesting thought, to say the least. But if I had been out of reach for a long time, it wasn't possible that I had died for that long – there was only so much time a brain could last without oxygen. Perhaps I had died for a few minutes though, and perhaps I was out of reach because I had been in a _coma_.

I voiced these thoughts to Mukuro, who seemed to agree at the possibility –

"They must really not want to lose you, if they're going to those lengths."

"I don't know why," I licked my lips, "I'm not special."

"But you've been _surviving_." Mukuro's eyes flashed, many emotions muddled in their depths, "You're blind to it – we all are to an extent, before we really realize the truth of it – but surviving means a lot."

I wasn't sure what it was I was going to say, but I couldn't get it out. Things had started blurring again – though I wasn't sure whether it was because I was waking up, or if it was because I was slipping away again. Mukuro, too, seemed somewhat concerned – but this time, instead of fading away, his words reached me with no interference as he disappeared –

"Reach out. Don't let your mind hide away. Don't let it get lost. Reach out."

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**The Estraneo Arc is coming to an end, my friends.  
>Soon we will move past it – soon being the next chapter, more than likely.<strong>

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